Not Just Human
by I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar
Summary: Stiles is just human, that's all he has ever known himself to be. But that all changes when the vampire arrives in town, and along with it, a family secret that has been buried for far too long is discovered. Stiles isn't just human. Neither was his mother. She was a Quileute, a rare breed of wolf. And now he is too. Kind of a Twilight/TW crossover but not really.
1. Chapter 1

**_I started this story in late November last year. I've finished 4 out of 6 chapters but decided to post chapter 1 now 'cause... well, I was too impatient to wait 'til I finished the story :3_**

**_Enjoy the first chapter!_**

* * *

Beacon Hills has been rather disturbingly quiet the past few months. Stiles notices this just like how he notices everything else. With a loud mouth, plenty of wit, and a bit of sarcasm thrown in just to be Stiles.

"So like, really, _anything _could happen at _any time_, guys. And guess what? We won't be able to stop it because we're all sitting here playing Monopoly. Next thing we know, the whole of Beacon Hills is gone under siege by whatever big nasty baddy decides to come passin' through, and we're just gonna be fighting over who has the most play money while people outside are _dying!_"

Isaac has the nerve to somehow turn this serious matter into a joke by snorting, Scott only a few seconds behind him. Allison bites her lip, but it doesn't matter because Stiles can see that she's trying not to join in, the smile slowly edging at the corners of her mouth just a damn plain give-away.

"Stiles, don't you think you're being a bit, I don't know, over-the-top?" Scott glances up from staring at his play money—all $560 of it probably, the guy's good—to face Stiles with a look that shows _just _how funny he finds the situation. Damn it, Stiles should snatch that money off him and flush it down the toilet.

"_How _am I being over-the-top?" He directs full eye contact with every single person sitting in front of him, huffing in annoyance when they instantly find their play money one of the most interesting things on the planet. "Oh, I see, let's just pretend Stiles doesn't exist. Fine. Keep on playing the stupid game. But don't come howlin' and crying to me when one of you lose to Lydia."

Lydia—the only person in the room who'd chosen to ignore the humorous effect his concern of Beacon Hills' safety had somehow generated—nods, a small twitch to her lips. "Stiles is right." She looks up, her green eyes piercing everyone with her_ I am Lydia Martin_ stare. "I will win."

"See? Lydia says I'm right." Stiles picks up his play money from where he'd left it, counting each piece and grinning goofily.

Lydia clicks her tongue, bringing Stiles' eyes up from his play money to meet her amused smile. "Oh, honey, I meant about the game. Not the destruction of the town."

Stiles' grin morphs into a scowl as the room erupts into laughter. "Why did I ever think you were a nice person?"

Lydia pats his cheek. "Don't worry, you never did." She sneaks a peek at the play money he's holding in his hand. "Stiles only has 100 dollars!"

Scott whoops a "_Yes!_" and Isaac's eyes light up. Allison giggles.

"Correction," Stiles groans. "Why did I ever _like _you?"

Lydia smirks. "You wouldn't be Stiles if you didn't?"

And of course this cracks up the whole room.

Stiles is just glad Lydia's a girl.

* * *

So, Stiles' theory on something bad happening? Yeah. Turns out that he really _does _know how to foretell shit before it happens.

"This is totally where I say "I told you so" isn't it?" Stiles quips. Everyone in the room doesn't find the humour this time around, their faces doing very good imitations of Derek's _Shut up Stiles _glare. "Or not…" Yeesh.

"We should call Derek," Isaac says, looking at Scott for confirmation. Speak of the devil.

Scott shakes his head, obviously not on-board with the idea. "Derek left for a reason."

"And what reason _is _that, Scott?" Isaac growls.

Stiles glances between Scott and Isaac, not understanding why Isaac is so confused.

"Isa-"

"_Why_ Scott? He tell you and not me? Huh!?"

Oh _wow_. Derek must not have let Isaac know anything before he left. Then again, he never really did tell _anyone_. Apart from Scott, it seems...

Scott's trying to keep his cool without Alpha-ing out, but it looks to be getting quite hard with Isaac flashing his amber eyes every time he yells. Stiles can see this and decides to pitch in.

"Isaac, man, c'mon. Derek wouldn't want us to be fighting right now. He'd want us to be figuring out a way to get this blood-sucking creep out of our town."

"Amen to that," Aiden chuckles. Ethan nods his own silent agreement with his twin.

Danny, hand entwined with Ethan's—he'd found out about werewolves a few weeks after Derek left, Ethan having a slight problem with "keepin' the wolf in the bag" during sexy times—inputs his own opinion. "Scott's right. I don't know much about all that's happened, but if I'm not mistaken, Derek sounds like he's been through a lot of shit."

Isaac frowns. "B-"

Danny holds his hand up, raising his eyebrows as a signal that he's not wanting to be interrupted. "And you're his Beta. Well… were, I guess. You of all people should have an idea of what he's had to deal with." He smiles warmly, his damn sweet dimples showing. "I know you want him to come back. You were closest to him since he turned you first, right?"

Isaac nods, scowl thinning out into a pout as he scuffs his sneaker on the floor, eyes downcast. "Yeah," he murmurs softly. "I was." Everyone's quiet. Isaac looks up, sees the sympathy on their faces, and masks his emotions with a sneer. "But that's not the point. We need help with getting this vampire out of here. Derek can help. _That's _why I want him to come back. No other reason."

The werewolves in the room share glances with each other, all being able to hear the lie, the skip or blip in Isaac's heartbeat. Stiles can't hear heartbeats—werewolves and their stupid senses—but he can still tell that Isaac's lying by his tone. In the way he steels his emotions, buries them deep down in the hopes of nobody seeing them. He'd done it for years after his mother's death, working hard to make sure everyone believed he was all right, that he was _fine_ when he actually wasn't. Isaac's not fooling him at all.

"O—kay, so we just call Derek?" He breaks the tense silence himself, since nobody else has attempted to and it's starting to get really awkward really fast. Scott turns to him first, then Isaac, then Ethan and Aiden in succession.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Allison's the one to speak, having been quiet the entire time, standing in the corner of Stiles' room. Yep, his room is officially Werewolf Headquarters now. "I mean, if he left to get away from everything why would he come back just to get thrown back into it all over again?"

"She has a point." Aiden's eyes move over Allison up and down like he's studying her, even though it's only a thing he does when agreeing with something. (A few Alpha traits just stick. And still creep Stiles the hell out.)

"She does," Scott notes, smiling at Allison with his _I'm so proud of you I love you I love you I love you _stare. _Ugh_.

"Okay, so Allison's got a point, Derek's out some place in _God _knows where, and we're just standing here doing nothing while a vampire at _any _minute could decide to take a bite out of a few poor, helpless Beacon Hills' citizens. Wonderful, guys. Just—so wonderful," he says, sarcastic by nature as always.

There's a growl. It sounds like Isaac. Oh, nope, it's Aiden.

"Stiles has also nicely made a good point." Lydia's gaze hovers over everyone in the room before landing on him in—approval. Wow. The amazing Lydia Martin just gave him the _I deem you at least a little bit worthy _once-over stare. His life is starting to look up. Then again, his life would be even _better_ if the vampire bit the dust (pun highly intended).

"He has," Scott agrees, smiling at Stiles too. But not as big or proud as he had with Allison. Furbutt.

"Then we should all decide on something," Ethan says.

"Yep, Ethan's spot-on."

Everyone turns to Stiles who's spinning around in his computer chair, though he comes to a stop, looking at each one of them as he speaks.

"Either we call Derek to come here and help, which is probably going to do nada since as far as we know he left with no intention of ever coming back," cue sneer at Scott from Isaac, "_or _I knuckle under and get into some heavy research on these leeches so we can take it down on our own." He spreads his arms out in an openly wide gesture before leaning back in his chair, crossing both arms against his chest. "Two options. One full proof, one not. Let's get the votes rollin', shall we?" He grins.

In the end, after a very long debate, the votes are seven to one.

"I still think we should call Derek," Isaac says, leaning against the farthest wall in the room, away from the rest of the pack. He'd retreated to the back mid-vote, blue eyes foreshadowed in the darkness as he'd listened to the votes being counted and discussed.

"Isaac, we can't." Scott frowns and Stiles can tell his best friend is slowly starting to become annoyed, a literal few seconds away from losing his cool.

"Yes we _can_. Just pick up the phone and _call him_, Scott," Isaac growls, yellow irises like a blink in the shadows as he flashes his eyes.

Stiles groans. This is not going to end well.

"Look. Isaac, I get that you miss Derek. Okay? I get it. But calling him isn't going to help us. The best shot we got at getting rid of this thing is to follow Stiles' plan and let him do the research so we can take it down ourselves." Everyone nods at Scott's words in silent agreement with their Alpha.

Isaac doesn't budge. Well, he does in a way. By storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

"Whelp, that went well," Stiles mumbles, earning a glare from Scott.

Aiden snorts. "Yeah," he laughs. "That went _terrifically_."

"Don't worry, Scott. You know he'll come around," Allison assures, laying a hand on Scott's shoulder. Lydia nods along with her. It seems to work as Scott's shoulders eventually lose their tension and his face relaxes into a neutral expression.

"Yeah, yeah you're right," he says, sighing. "Just—I hope he doesn't stay mad at me forever. We live in the same house, and I _really _don't want to wait to find out how long it takes Mom to figure that something's up."

Stiles chuckles despite his brain warning him not to. "Better not pull out the spare mattress then," he jokes.

Danny and Ethan look to each other, smirking, while Scott rolls his eyes. "I have a feeling I'm not gonna have a choice. Wait… unless I sleep in Mom's room." A thoughtful look crosses his face and Stiles has to snort.

"That'll just give it away, Scotty boy," he says. Scott pouts. "Hey, hey no pouting. You can sleep here tonight!"

Scott smiles, but politely shakes his head. "Thanks for the offer, man. But I'll just stay over Allison's. That's okay, right?" he asks, turning to Allison and begging her silently, making his doe brown eyes as puppy-like as he can.

Allison nods. "That should be fine," she says. Scott grins toothily and it's so sappy Stiles wants to throw up.

"Okay you two love puppies, go chase your tails all the way back to the Argents'. The rest of you can all go on home. Stiles has work to do." He stands up and ushers them all out. Scott and Allison are the last ones out, and he pulls his best friend back to whisper in his ear. "Go get yourself some Allison kibble, dude."

Scott hits him on the way out but Stiles still counts it as a win when Allison gives him a thumbs up behind her back when Scott's not looking. He returns it smugly.

Only a few seconds later he hears Scott and Allison leave out the front door. He looks around his room, sighing quietly as he starts clearing up the food that the pack had eaten, putting the rubbish into the small bin beside his desk. He's sitting down at his computer chair, about to start researching, when the niggling feeling at the back of his mind that's been bothering him all night won't stop pestering him.

After a few minutes of just sitting there, he eventually caves.

"Fuck it," he mutters, taking out his phone.

To **_Sourwolf_**

_Hey big guy, got a vampire problem back here. Mind coming back to help out?_

It's when he's sent the first message that his better judgement decides to fail him.

The next text he types out he doesn't even think about, not even faltering for a second before hitting send.

To **_Sourwolf_**

_I miss you_

* * *

Stiles stays up all night researching. He comes across many websites that he has to quickly click out of before he has the urge to email the people who'd made it and complain about their poor information—very poor, like not even worthwhile reading—and how all of its just based on vampire TV shows and movies (Lost Boys, _really?_). He does come across some good websites though, a few that supplies information that he can consider valuable to their cause and actually write down. Information that isn't cheap-skated from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but information that has at least _some _literal value.

When the sun rises the next morning, Stiles doesn't notice... Well, not until he opens his curtains and is blinded. Staring at a computer screen all night really _does _affect the retinas in a bad way, because right now his eyes are burning and in no universe is that a good thing. He manages to get past that, though—Stilinskis are survivors, after all—and take out his phone to message Scott of his success—because obviously a whole night of screens is no match for Stiles Stilinski, refer back to "Stilinskis are survivors".

_To **Scotty**_

_Got da info. Pck meet mine in 10_

He receives a reply only a few seconds later saying that the whole pack will be there soon, so he gets to work at organizing some snacks for when they arrive.

Scott and Allison will want to share a packet of Skittles (same with Ethan and Danny but with Red Vines), Lydia will want a yoghurt, Isaac will want some Cheetos and Aiden will just want a Snickers bar (which seriously, Stiles doesn't even know _why_. That guy is _always _at least a little bit pissed, and it has got nothing to do with the whole "not yourself when you're hungry" thing that the ads on TV always say).

"Yo, Stiles!"

Stiles whips his head out from where he's been looking in the fridge for the can of Coke he'd left there a few days ago, raising an eyebrow when he finds Aiden and Ethan pushing and shoving each other to try and get inside first, Scott waving from the door with Allison on his arm.

"Hey," he says slowly, not sure why they're in such a rush to get in. What is this now, first come first served? "Something up?"

Scott grins sheepishly as he and Allison walk over. "They smelt food," he chuckles, like it's just that simple. His grins falls as quick as it appears, frown taking its place. "Also, uh, Isaac isn't here today. He…"

"Didn't want to come." Stiles finishes it for him, sighing and giving up at his search as he closes the fridge. His dad must've found it, the sneaky bastard. "Yeah, I kinda expected as much."

Scott nods, eyes tired. It's now Stiles notices that his best friend looks worse for wear. It's obvious he's had a rough night.

"Is he—is he okay?" he asks, awkwardly leaning against the fridge. "Guy's tail wasn't waggin' as much as it usually does last night." He snorts at his dog joke, though is relieved when it manages to put a slight smile on Scott's otherwise exhausted face.

Scott shrugs, the movement nothing but a half-attempted lift of the shoulder blades. "He wouldn't come out of my room last night. I had to sleep on the couch. Also he refused to speak to me when I tried to apologize to him this morning."

Stiles smiles. Scott, ever the caring, puppy eyed guy. It's so sweet, sometimes Stiles has to pinch himself _hard _to stop thinking absolutely mind-melting, adorable thoughts.

"Mom figured out something was wrong straight away, of course." Scott chuckles, a small, partially quiet sound. "I told her what happened and she said to just give him space."

"Space." Stiles sighs, long and loud. Jesus, people and their _space_. "Sounds just about right." He turns to Allison. "Space sound all right to you? Or you think Scotty should try and talk him 'round?"

Allison smiles. "It's up to Scott, but I think Isaac will eventually come around on his own."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Scott agrees, nodding. He looks a lot happier than he was earlier. Which is good.

Stiles beams, clapping Scott on the back. "All right!" he says. "Let's get down to business!"

The three of them walk upstairs, the pack's sounds of laughter and chatter loud enough that it ricochets through Stiles' closed bedroom door and carries down the hallway. Stiles rolls his eyes, opening the door to meet the puke-inducing sight of Danny and Ethan making out on his bed, Lydia and Aiden doing the same thing on his computer chair. Lydia's sitting on Aiden's lap, basically _straddling _the guy.

It's like both couples stopped laughing and talking just to make out _in hopes _of pissing him off.

"Oh, gross, that's just—ew." He shudders, ignoring the snort at his left from Scott. "Guys, could you _please _stop turning my room into your own personal love nest?" he whines. Lydia stops kissing Aiden to address him with the literal stare of death.

"Oh, man up Stilinski," Aiden teases, trailing a line of kisses all the way down Lydia's throat. She hums in approval, tilting her neck to the side, still eyeing Stiles, but this time with half-lidded amusement.

Stiles groans. He gives up on that one and turns to Danny and Ethan, pleased that _they _at least get the memo of "no kissing in Stiles' safe haven".

"Okay," he says, nearly well enough shouts. It gets everyone's attention, and even though Aiden refuses to stop nibbling on Lydia's bottom lip, he still shows enough respect to look over at Stiles from the corner of his eye. "I researched last night, on vampires. So far, well, I can only say that this thing is gonna be tricky."

Scott's eyebrows pinch together as he frowns. "How? It's just a vampire, right? A stake to the heart, maybe some holy water. It doesn't sound so hard."

Stiles snorts. "Scotty, you're as bad as some of the websites I found last night. And let me tell you. Their information? Total. Shit."

"Well, uh, okay then. What do we do?" Everyone in the room nods at Scott's question, Aiden now having abandoned kissing Lydia to start staring, unblinkingly, straight at Stiles. Creepy.

Stiles goes over to his computer, picking up a notebook lying beside it, the one that he'd wrote all the information in last night. He turns to the first page and starts to read.

"Vampires, even though dead, still maintain some close physical resemblance to their human form, and are literally frozen in the state of how they were when they were turned. Their skin is a lot paler and their eye colour is more defined. Also, their physical beauty is heightened."

Aiden wolf whistles. "Lydia would be a total catch," he says smugly. Lydia hmm's happily.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but continues reading.

"In direct sunlight, vampires _do not _burn. Legends and myths may say they do, but for a fact they actually _can _survive in sunlight. They do not combust, nor explode, they simply... sparkle."

Everyone bursts out in laughter at that one. So does Stiles, naturally. He'd been surprised when he'd read it too, but the website he'd got it from had been written by a real-life vampire researcher and the information had been truthful.

"Really?" Scott chuckles. "What the hell."

Stiles shrugs and continues to read.

"The teeth of a vampire appear the same as human teeth do, the only difference is that they are longer and more pointed than human canines. However, vampire canines are unbreakable, razor sharp on their edges and strong enough to slice through any substance, even their own kinds' skin, which is harder than granite, rendering their bodies nearly indestructible."

"Wow," Allison murmurs quietly.

"Yeah. The sparkling sounds kinda scary now," Scott jokes.

"Okay, okay. Quiet. I'm nearly done," Stiles says, snapping his fingers. "_Shush_."

Aiden sneers.

"A vampires' physical and mental abilities extend far from a normal humans'. All vampires have the ability to run faster than humans, an excess of a hundred miles per hour. They are capable of lifting objects hundreds of times their own weight. Their senses are designed to be similarly boosted, giving vampires the ability to see, hear and smell things that are imperceptible to humans' senses. Their minds work many times faster than humans' are capable of, and all vampires have perfect recall. Also, vampires _never _sleep."

Stiles flips the book shut. "That's all I got, sorry guys. I tried getting more but most websites were written for die-hard Buffy fans." He shrugs, sitting down on his bed. "So, what you think? Can we take it?"

Scott shakes his head. "We need more information. Like, how _can _we kill the thing? You said that their bodies are made of, what, granite? That's tough. We'd need a bulldozer or something."

Stiles chuckles. "A bulldozer doesn't sound all that good, their skin might break _that_."

"That's impossible," Aiden snorts. Everyone turns to look at him. "A bulldozer would take it down. Trust me, _nothing _could withstand against a bulldozer."

"Oh, _really?_"

Everyone freezes, eyes wide.

The voice is a low sneer, amused if anything.

When Stiles turns around he sees a man sat by his windowsill, blonde hair shining in the sunlight like golden honey. His eyes are literally like the bluest ocean, azure and glittering, and his skin is shimmering like fucking _diamonds_. There's an aromatic scent coming off him as well—sickly sweet, but so sweet it actually burns his nostrils.

"Holy _shit_," someone mutters, but Stiles isn't paying attention.

There's this sensation in his chest, some sort of tingling. It's as if there's ants crawling inside him, biting into him. His skin is starting to feel hot, tiny stings that he just wants to itch and scratch but _can't._ It's like his temperature's rising, higher and higher until it's unbearable, but somehow not. And for some reason he feels angry, blood boiling beneath his prickling skin. He's never felt like this before, _ever_. It's as if he's gone crazy with rage, yet holding it down deep inside. But slowly, slowly the rage is eating at him, stronger and stronger as his skin burns like it's blistering, the temperature unreal. He soon realizes he's shaking, tremors racking through his body in uncontrollable bursts.

Everything… Everything is becoming too much.

The acidic smell of the vampire, the too hot temperate of his skin, the clench and shift of his muscles with every quake of his body…

He feels like he's going _insane_.

The last thing he hears before everything goes fuzzy is the vampire crying out in surprise, a thunderous roar echoing around him.

* * *

_**This story will be updated weekly :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

When Stiles opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is that his skin isn't burning anymore. Everything's fine and he feels normal.

That's until he stands up and almost falls over his own feet.

He feels dizzy, like he's been on a roller coaster one too many times. Also, for some reason, everything in his room is suddenly smaller.

**_What fuck is going on with me?_**

He tries to take a step forward but it's as if he's learning how to walk all over again, feet going out from underneath him. He winces, closing his eyes and waiting for the floor to hit him hard.

But his body never meets the ground.

"Calm down. You're going to hurt yourself if you don't. _Calm. Down_."

**_W-What the hell?_**

The voice is right next to him, like the person is holding him up. But all he feels is _cold_. He blinks, opens his eyes and tries to speak, but all that comes out is a _whine_.

Not human-like.

Dog-like.

_Wolf-like_.

"Shh, it's all right. Just breathe. Calm down. You're okay, Stiles."

Stiles tries to speak again but all that comes out is another shallow whine, the cold pressing into him. He tries to shake it off but it clings to him, not leaving. He's starting to panic, twisting in the cold grasp and gasping out breaths, but they sound too wet and heaving.

"_Stiles_. Stop. Stiles!"

There's a face looming over him—dark hair, bright eyes. It's all he can make out as he tries to shake off whatever it is that's gripping him in its cold clutches. The thing still doesn't budge, clutching tighter and tighter until in his desperate struggle he opens his mouth and tries to scream… but it comes out as a _howl_.

The cold's gone. It has just… disappeared. The face is gone too, and now all he can see is his ceiling as he stares up at the white paint and little glow in the dark stars that stopped glowing years ago. He tries to sit up but finds that he can't, his paws sliding against the floor limply—

**_What._**

Paws. He has _paws_.

They're this sandy brown colour. His _paws_.

**_No. No this is too crazy. Stiles, too crazy even for you._**

He howls again, this one drawn out and higher pitched, trying to stand up, but his paws just slip and slide against the wooden floor, sending his body slumping down to the ground again.

"Stiles, _please_."

The voice is softer this time—_pleading_.

Stiles isn't aware that he's human again—not until he's fallen to his knees, eyes wide and staring at an equally surprised Derek, who's staring back at him from across the room.

"W-What—?" He can't even finish the sentence, too numb in shock from what he's just seen, let alone _experienced_. He's shaking from head to toe, even though he's not cold…

Well, he _is _naked—

Naked.

He's _naked_.

He's _naked _in front of _Derek Hale_.

"Where—where the hell did all my clothes go?" he squeaks, moving his hands to cover his crotch. Not like it's going to do anything, Derek's already _seen _it.

"You shifted and, uh, your clothes ripped." It's Scott who answers—which _what the hell?_ When did he get here?—walking out from where he'd been standing beside the door.

"Oh." He settles for just that, worried he'll flip the shit out and ramble if he says anything more.

"You're not the only one freaking out. I am too, dude," Scott says, probably thinking he's helping.

Well, he's _not_.

He'd turned into a wolf. A _wolf_.

What the fuck?

"Of course he is," Derek snorts, walking over. Scott looks like he feels threatened, then must remember he's an Alpha and Derek's a Beta, standing tall and squaring his shoulders.

"He isn't even a werewolf. He never got bit," Scott growls. "And anyways, nothing happened until _you _showed up."

Hold up. When Derek got there? _When_ did Derek get there?

"Wait, what?"

"After you went all wolfy Derek came bursting through the bedroom door," Scott explains, still eying Derek angrily.

"And chased the thing off. You should be _thanking _me," Derek snaps. Scott looks like he's about to throw a punch or two, so Stiles stands up and steps between them.

"Hey, okay, _enough_. I get that tensions are high because of what happened, but just—don't argue." Scott doesn't back off, letting out a low rumble that Derek returns, eyes flashing cool aide blue. "Oi, stop it! Scott, I texted Derek last night. Okay? I _asked _him to come back."

This gets Scott to step down.

"What?" Scott frowns. "I thought you said we weren't going to call him."

"And I didn't. I texted him instead," Stiles bites back sarcastically. Scott's eyebrows just pinch together. "Oh, c'mon, Scott. We weren't gonna be able to deal with the vampire on our own in the first place. I only said we could because the whole pack was there and I didn't want anyone, especially Aiden, wolfing out and ripping my throat out."

"Because that's my job," Derek adds, and he actually has the nerve to look _smug_.

"You," he points, "don't. Don't you dare, Derek. You _left_."

Derek now has the audacity to look guilty. Only a little bit. "I needed some space. To think. Clear my head," he says flatly.

"Wow, must be an Alpha to Beta thing huh?" He nudges Scott. Scott just rolls his eyes.

"What?" Derek asks, genuinely confused.

"Isaac's been pissy and needed some _space_," Stiles mock whispers. "Thinkin' it's an Alpha inherited thing now."

"I'm not an Alpha anymore," Derek grumbles.

"Okay, okay. Yeesh. Don't get all sourwolf on me, man. _Chill_." Stiles pats Derek shoulder, then remembers he's still _naked _and removes his hand awfully fast. "Uh, can I get some clothes over here? Feeling _very _exposed right now."

Scott doesn't seem to move, shooting daggers at Derek like it will make the guy explode or something. It's actually Derek who walks over to his closet and gets him a pair of pants, handing them to him with the barest of nods.

"T-Thanks," he says, trying hard to blush because seriously, when does Derek Hale hand you _clothes _when you're _naked?_ Also, when is anyone ever _naked _in front of Derek Hale?

Derek just nods again, then proceeds to shed off his jacket. "Here." He hands it out to Stiles. All Stiles can do is stumble while trying to get his right foot through the leg of his jeans, eyes wide at the black leather jacket Derek's holding out.

Thankfully, Derek steadies him.

"Wow, close call," he breathes, awkwardly doing up his fly. "Uh, thanks—again."

"No problem," Derek says, shrugging before giving up at holding out the jacket, chucking it at him so it hits him in the face instead. "Wear this."

"Um… why?" Stiles asks, confused but still slipping it on. It's a tad size bigger than he is, but it's still warm and comfy over his bare skin (also, it smells highly of _Derek_. Which is not a bad smell at all, really).

"Why are you sharing scents with him?" Scott snarls.

What? Sharing scents? Whaa—

"He'll need it," Derek says smoothly.

"Why?" Scott demands.

Derek pits Scott with a glare that could scare off the mother of all monsters. "With the vampire in town, he's not safe. The one I chased off now already knows his scent. It has probably gone back to its place of hiding and is planning its next attack. It'll be back before you or any of your pack realizes it's here. Stiles _needs _my scent."

Scott doesn't seem to be getting the gist of it, neither of how "important" Derek sees the situation. Stiles can hear him growling lowly, and it's starting to look like he's going to pounce at Derek with teeth and claws.

"And what gives _you _the right to share scents with a human of _my_ pack?" Scott sneers.

Derek full out _laughs _at that one, eyes flashing blue. "He's definitely _not _human."

Scott takes a step back at that, all anger gone, a startled expression on his face. "But—but he _smells _human."

Derek shakes his head. "Try again."

Scott frowns, takes a sniff of the air. "No… No, that—that can't be right." He sniffs closer to Stiles, eyebrows furrowing.

"Oi! Don't—don't _sniff_ me like I'm another dog to you, dude!" he yelps, dog jokes be damned, flicking Scott on the forehead.

"Tell him what he smells like, Scott," Derek says, and dare Stiles say it but the guy sounds _amused_.

Scott straightens up, wide red eyes staring at Stiles. "You... You smell like _dog_, man."

Stiles laughs hysterically. He doesn't really have any option _not _to. He smells like _dog _for God's sake.

"Stiles are, uh, are you okay?" Scott sounds worried but Stiles doesn't care, _can't _care.

Because he smells like dog. _Dog_. The thing that goes _woof woof _and chases its tail and pees on rugs and gets hit on the nose with newspaper and he _smells like one _and—

"Hey, hey. Stiles. Clam down."

Stiles feels a hand on his shoulder, reassuring, over the warm leather of the jacket he's wearing. When he looks up he meets Derek's eyes. They're looking at him calmly, probably trying to convey the message. He can't say it's working.

"You're not a dog, so get that crazy idea out of your head _right now_," Derek says firmly. Stiles nods, swallowing. "You're a wolf. A werewolf. I think your mother might have been an ancestor of the Quileute tribe. You must have picked up her genes."

"My—mom?" Stiles chokes. No one's brought his mom up for ages, and when Derek mentions her all he can do is fight back the tears that are stinging his eyes.

"Yes." Derek nods, obviously sensing his distress, because he doesn't say anything more

Stiles sighs shakily, wrapping his arms around his torso, hugging the material of the leather jacket closer to his body.

"Stiles…" Scott takes a step forward. Derek growls, a signal for _Back off and give him space_. "_Hey!_" he yells.

"Scott, please don't," Stiles mumbles quietly. Scott must see how upset he looks and stops growling at Derek, taking a step back again.

"I-I'm sorry," he says sadly, looking down at his shoes. "Do—do you want me and Derek to go?"

Derek's eyes narrow. "I'm not leaving."

"Well it's not your choice, it's Stiles'," Scott grouses. Derek's eyes flash and he snarls quietly.

"Derek can stay. I need to talk to him," Stiles says quickly, not wanting Derek and Scott to have another fight. All he wants is to know what the hell is going on, most preferably with his best friend _not _killing the guy who seems to know more about this than he does.

"Are you sure?" Scott asks, side-eyeing Derek cautiously. "I can make him leave if you want me to."

Derek bares his teeth, which are slowly starting to look a bit sharper than usual. "I'm not _leaving_," he growls.

"I'm sure," Stiles says, nodding at Scott. "Don't worry, Scott. Just go home. I'll text you later, buddy. Okay?"

Scott hesitantly makes a move for the door, Stiles right behind him. "If he does anything you don't like, call me. I'll be right back here to kick his ass, I swear it," Scott jokingly whispers, yet Stiles can see in his best friend's eyes that he's being totally serious and means it.

"Yeah, sure," Stiles chuckles, noticing Scott's staring at something behind him. He turns around to catch Derek scowling in their direction.

"Hey, quit it, sourwolf! Your mouth will get stuck that way, one day!"

Derek just scowls harder, eyebrow furrowing.

"Dude, that totally rhymed," Scott laughs.

"I know right!" he says, and when Scott's too distracted at laughing, shuts the door in his face. "See ya later!"

"_Hey! _Dude, _not _cool!"

Stiles cackles, holding his sides that are starting to ache from how hard he's laughing. "Oh God, just too funny," he snorts, walking over to Derek and thumping his fist on the guy's shoulder. "Ya see that? True bro-man ship, dude!"

"Clearly," Derek scoffs. His shoulders are tense, muscles bunched up tight under the material of his shirt as he makes himself comfortable on Stiles' bed, patting the spot beside him. "Sit," he says in a tone that means _No discussion, just do what I say_.

Stiles is no position to argue, so he takes a seat, still slightly frazzled at everything.

Derek's back.

Vampire in town.

My _mom_ was a wolf.

And now I am too. I smell like _dog_, of all things to smell like.

"Stiles."

Stiles doesn't flinch when Derek's composed, soft voice is suddenly _right there_, the man's hand placed over his knee in a firm, restraining grip. _He doesn't_.

"You need to calm down. What I'm about to tell you—you're going to need to have clear, level head for this. You're young, only just shifted. Your control is limited. Any high emotions of stress, anger, anxiety, and you'll shift. You need to _calm down_, _Stiles_."

Stiles breathes slowly, in through his nose, out through his mouth, before nodding. "Okay. No—no high emotions. Calm."

Derek mirrors his nod and looks at him in understanding. "Good. Now, as you probably already noticed, Quileute wolves aren't like us—like me, Scott and the others. They originated from a different line of ancestors."

Stiles listens, letting Derek know he's taking it all in. When Derek's sure that he's got Stiles' full attention, he continues.

"Alpha werewolves can turn humans into their own with the bite, as you know. But, Quileute wolves don't work that way. Your kind only originates back to the original Quileute tribal leader and his family, the very first people of your kind. Your mother's family must be originated from that blood line, otherwise you wouldn't have shifted today."

Stiles is confused. This is _very confusing._

"So, what you're saying is, my mom and her mother and maybe even _her _mother originate back to this tribal leader dude from… how long ago?"

Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No. No, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that yes, your mother is from that bloodline, but maybe not her mother. Her father could have been as well. Not only women carry the Quileute wolf in them."

"Because of what happened with me, right?" Stiles says, biting his lip. Derek nods. "So maybe my dad could have passed it on?"

Derek shakes his head. "No. Your dad's human. If he was a Quileute, I would have smelled it on him the second I met him."

Stiles frowns. "But wait, then doesn't that mean you knew about me? This _whole time?_" He doesn't give Derek the time to answer, already starting to feel the anger rising.

"Stiles," Derek says slowly. "Calm down. You're going to shift if you don't contain your anger."

"C-C-Contain my—"

Stiles is _fuming_.

Derek had _no right_ to keep this information from him for the three whole years they've known each other. And neither does he have the right to tell him to _calm down_ when he's angry. He's angry at _him_, for God's sakes. And fuck everything to hell if he isn't going to _be _angry.

"Stiles! Calm _down!_"

Stiles doesn't feel the slap to the face until _after _he's shifted. It stings, but not a lot. It's much like a quick, harmless jab of a needle. His anger is restrained, but barely. The slap just made it worse and harder to control.

If Derek thought slapping him would help him gain control, then nope, it ain't worked. Pain is a trigger to halt the shift, but apparently not for him.

"Stiles stop! Shift back! Shift back _now!_"

Stiles is aware he's shaking, pretty sure his fur is bristling, and Derek's now flashing blue eyes at him, growling at him because—

Oh, yes. _He's _growling too…

Well, more like snarling.

**_What's going on? Why am I doing this?_**

He has no idea why he's growling at Derek. He's _not _a feral animal. He is _not_. But the growling isn't stopping and the anger is coursing through him, hot like liquid iron through his veins.

"STILES! _STOP IT!_"

The anger is, all a sudden, just gone. He's still a wolf, still got his sandy brown paws and everything else that comes with being a wolf, but he's _him _again. Mentally. He's in control again.

"Wow," he hears Derek mutter in relief. "Didn't think that'd work."

**_How the hell did you do that?_**

He's aware that everything he's saying isn't being heard clearly. To Derek it probably sounds like whines and growls.

"I can't understand _a word _you're saying," Derek says in amusement, lips twitching. "How about come back down to my size, huh?"

**_My size? Dude, what does that even mea—oh._**

He is large. No, not _fat_. He's… grown bigger. In height. And mass. _Muscle mass_, not weight mass. _Geez_.

He tries to make himself shift but… but it doesn't work. He closes his eyes, concentrating on hi—

Ah. Yes. He's shifting, body morphing back to human as his bones crack.

Which surprisingly does not hurt.

Which is awesome.

What is _not_ awesome, is that he's naked in front of Derek Hale. Again. Yay…

"Uhm," he mumbles, looking at the floor sheepishly where the ripped shreds of Derek's leather jacket and his jeans lay. "Oops. My bad." He quickly avoids Derek's eyes and glances around his room for any available piece of clothing. Maybe another pair of pants he left lying on the floor. Or at least _something _to cover up his manhood which is bare for a particular surly werewolf to see.

But no.

Nothing.

"Crap."

Stiles vouches that sooner or later he's gonna start leaving clothes laying around. Sure, yeah, his dad may yell at him ("_Stop being a messy teenager, Stiles. You have a closet. Use it,_") but he'll take that risk if he can avoid going through his mortifying experience again.

"Could you, uh, just—turn around?" Derek doesn't bother to suppress his smirk, eyebrows raising in amusement. "Derek, man, _please turn around_. I may be a wild animal now, but I'm not going to go around flashing my bits to every shifter like me out there."

Of course, that comment just results in Derek laughing his head off. Which, hello, _abnormal much?_ Seriously, since when does Derek laugh? Like, this wasn't even a small snort. No, no. This was a belly shaking laugh that, honestly, Stiles never thought the werewolf was _capable _of. Well… until now, he guesses.

"I'm just going to ignore the fact that you're actually _laughing_, like seriously, _what even is that_, and put on something decent." Derek hasn't stopped laughing. The guy's eyes are actually _watering_. "Yeah. So. Bathroom. Riiiiight now." He runs to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him.

Except, one thing.

He forgot his clothes.

"Fuck."

Derek apparently has the decency to start acting _normal _again, because next second there's a knock on the bathroom door before it's opening and Derek's standing there, holding out fresh clothes for him. "Here." His lips are twitching, though, and it's really disconcerting when he's holding a pair of Stiles' _underwear_.

Stiles takes the clothes, eyeing the werewolf carefully. "You better not have touched anything," he warns, pointing a finger at Derek's chest. "Just because you insist on the "scent sharing" _does not_ mean you get to start sniffing my clothes and rubbing them all over yourself. Because _ew_, boundaries!"

Derek's smirk drops, mouth thinning out in a tight-lipped scowl. "Put on your clothes," he says flatly.

And then he's closing the door in Stiles' face.

Stiles rolls his eyes, takes a minute to listen for the footstep retreating back to his bedroom, and when he's satisfied Derek's gone, starts pulling on his jeans and shirt, though leaves the boxers clenched in his hand. Hesitantly, he brings them up to his nose and takes a sniff. His nose scrunches up when he catches the familiar scent of pine needles, leather and musky cologne.

"That _fucker_."

Derek's laying on his bed, though sits up when he storms into the room, eyebrows raised. "What is it?" he asks, like he doesn't already _know _what Stiles is riled up about.

"Oh ha ha, very _funny_," he spits, throwing the boxers at Derek, who catches them with one hand and just stares at them blankly, just before looking back up at him and _glaring_. "You _know _what I'm talking about, so don't try and glare at me like you don't. _What the hell?_"

Derek just shrugs. "I told you, you need to smell like me. I didn't say how much."

Stiles grits his teeth. "Not _this _much," he strains. "You are _not _rubbing your scent on my boxers. That is _too _much, okay!?"

"The more you smell like me, the better," Derek states, throwing the boxers back at him. "Put them on."

Stiles scowls. "_No_," he says defiantly.

"Put them _on_, Stiles," Derek growls.

Stiles flips him off.

Yeah. He _really _shouldn't have done that.

Before even he has time to lash out with another snide remark he's being pulled down onto his bed. He yelps, arms flailing as he tries to pull away, but Derek grips them and tightly, restricts their movement by forcing them up above his head.

Great. He's being _wolf_handled.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snaps.

Derek's hovering over him, nostrils flared, close enough that he can practically taste the smell of Derek's breath. Mint. Since when does the werewolf even _brush his teeth?_

"If you're not going to put them on, then I'm going to have to scent you some other way," Derek murmurs, and Stiles has _no idea _why his dick just twitched. He _doesn't_.

"Uhm, not sure what you're _implying _but, uh…" His mouth just kind of gets away from him, Derek's lips kissing over the bob of his adam's apple enough to cause him to lose all brain capacity.

Derek's breath is warm as it puffs over his skin, lips a press that is surprisingly gentle against the column of his throat. He can hear his own heartbeat thudding in his chest, squirms and breathes out a moan when Derek's lips latch on to his collar bone.

"D-Der—ek," he gasps, lets his eyes slide shut, head falling back onto the mattress. Derek's breathing as heavily as he is, nipping, kissing and sucking marks over his skin. There's something pressing into his abdomen, something hard and—oh my God, that's Derek's dick.

Derek is hard for him. _Him_.

"Gonna mark you for them all to see. You're _min_e," Derek growls, and oh would you look at that. Twin hard-ons!

Derek's hands are holding tightly onto his hips, thumbs barely brushing over the sliver of skin above the line of his jeans. He tries to buck his hips up and get some friction but Derek forces them down, biting into the juncture of his shoulder, teeth sharp enough that they end up breaking the skin.

"_S-Shit!_" he shouts, eyes rolling back behind his closed eyelids.

Just like that. One little bite and he's come in his pants.

He feels blood drip from the bite mark, then the wet glide of a tongue as it laps it up. He manages to open his eyes, sees Derek licking the blood off of his skin, electric blue irises eyeing him as the werewolf's tongue darts out again, over his shoulder blade, as it follows another tiny river of blood.

"Fuck, that's hot," he hums, smiling lazily. Derek ignores him in favour of laving over the bite mark, sucking over the wound.

_Drinking his blood_.

Yep. This is officially too hot for him to handle.

A few more minutes later Derek stops and looks up, eyes still glowing. There's blood on his chin, the red smeared across his stubble. Stiles swallows, fighting down the urge to lick it off of Derek's face.

"Your turn."

_What_.

Stiles blinks. "Uh… huh?" he asks. Derek just rests their foreheads together before tilting his head to the side, baring his thr— "_Oh_."

"Your turn," Derek repeats, quieter this time. Stiles has a feeling that he hasn't ever bared his throat to anyone but family and pack before, if the way his voice wavers is anything to go by. "Go on," Derek says, louder this time, when Stiles doesn't make a move.

"A-Are you sure?" Stiles hedges, very unsure about this himself. He knows that for a wolf to bare its throat, it's a sign of submission. Derek's submitting to him, baring his throat and _submitting_.

"I am." Derek's voice is soft, but this time it's confident, like he's sure that he wants to do this. "It's okay, Stiles. Do it."

Stiles still isn't sure, but if Derek's okay with it…

When his lips ghost over Derek's throat, Derek shudders. Stiles presses an open-mouthed kiss to Derek's adam's apple, feels as it bobs minutely. Derek shudders again, sighing out shakily.

"Stiles," he breathes. "C'mon."

It's the way Derek says it, how it's so _pleading_, that pulls at something inside of him.

Stiles is aware of the juicy flow of blood on his tongue, how it slides down his throat when he swallows. Derek's gasping under him, short little breaths as his whole body trembles. There's the smell of something salty against the rich scent of blood, and Stiles looks into Derek's eyes, sees how they're glazed, slightly damp with tears.

Derek _came_. He bit Derek and made him _come_.

They lay there for a few seconds, catching their breaths. Derek's eyes are closed, mouth parted, and it's too tempting for Stiles to resist. He presses his mouth to the werewolf's, running his tongue across Derek's bottom lip. Derek exhales unsteadily, then slowly opens. Stiles licks into his mouth, feels as Derek moans softly, lips moving over his own as their tongues tangle together wetly.

The kiss lasts several minutes and by the time they pull apart, Stiles has to catch his breath all over again. Derek's smiling, looking at him with bright hazel eyes, and it's the prettiest thing Stiles has ever seen.

"Hi," he whispers, can't help the small giggle that comes after.

"Hey," Derek chuckles. His arms are lying by his side but Stiles feels one hand moving towards his own, beams when Derek clasps their hands together and squeezes.

"I think we should get up, it's getting kind of sticky," he says after a few minutes of staring into Derek's eyes.

Derek nods, squeezing his hand one more time as they both sit up. Stiles gets up first, heading to the bathroom to go change. When he walks back into the room Derek's standing by his window, looking outside. He turns when he hears Stiles come in, lips twitching when Stiles hands him a pair of jeans.

"These are your dad's," he muses.

Stiles grins. "Oh, so you're saying you _want _to wear my "no fit" jeans?"

Derek snorts, taking the jeans. "Thanks," he says, unbuttons the jeans he has on. When they're off, Stiles blushes.

The wet stain on Derek's boxer is _really _noticeable.

"Uh, maybe I should get you some…"

Derek shakes his head, and it might be the trick of the light but is he _blushing?_ "Nah, it's all right." He slips the boxers off, pulling on the jeans Stiles gave him.

Stiles doesn't look when Derek strips, he _doesn't_.

"Okay, so you're just going go…" He coughs, feeling his own cheeks heat up. "You go commando often?"

Derek looks at him with an eyebrow raised. "No," he says slowly, and Stiles bites his lip. _Shouldn't have asked that question, Stilinski_.

"Right. Sorry." He turns around, fists clenched. The hand on his shoulder makes him jump and turn back around.

Derek's smirking. "Didn't know you liked that kind of thing," he teases.

"I don't." It comes out too quick and he winces.

"Don't worry, I won't hold it against you," Derek chuckles.

"Yeah?" he says weakly, smile a little strained. Derek nods, looking clearly amused at how embarrassed he is. "That's… great. Yeah."

Derek just laughs quietly, pulling him into a hug. "You should get to bed, it's nearly midnight."

Stiles is about to nod, when time abruptly catches up with him. _Midnight?_ But… it'd been morning only a couple of—

"You were unconscious for several hours. Nine, to be exact." He can't see Derek's face, but he can feel as the man's smile is hidden against his neck.

"Oh," he breathes. "Oh, uh, o-okay. Sure. Are you—are you staying?"

Derek's arms tighten around him, the man's words muffled but still heard.

"Of course I'm staying," and then a few seconds later, "I missed you too."

* * *

**_Next chapter will be up in a week. Thank you to the people who all have reviewed so far, reviews really mean so much to me as a writer :)_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_WARNING: Sexual Assault takes place in thi__s chapter!_**

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, it's to a warm body pressed up next to his and someone snuffling quietly into his ear. He opens his eyes to see Derek's arms draped across his chest, fingers curled lightly over his hipbones, looks up and smiles as he watches the way the werewolf's mouth moves and nose twitches as he breathes.

"Hey, sourwolf, time to wakey-wakey," he whispers, has to bite down on his lip to stop the _gonna die sooo cute oh my God _from escaping when Derek stifles a half-yawn, eyes blinking awake with tiny little flutter-flutters.

"M'wake," he murmurs drowsily and like every morning person does, doesn't bother with the attempt to speak, just slurs. "Sleep 'ell?"

Stiles nods, thinking about last night with a loose, lazy smile. "Yeah. Did you?"

Derek's lips twitch, mimicking the lazy smile in a way that's so darn adorable. "Mmm, better than I usually do." And then he's leaning forward, brushing their lips together, the fingers on Stiles' hips reeling him in further so he can wrap his arms around him fully, sliding a thigh between their bodies.

"A morning sex person, I like it," he giggles, hips stuttering forward when Derek's knee grinds up against the bulge in his jeans.

"Not a morning _anything_ person," Derek grumbles, but Stiles can see the curve of his lips and how they're twitching on a half-smile.

"No, really, I mean it." He moans softly, rolling his hips against the firmness of Derek's thigh, hands scrunched up in the material of Derek's shirt as he rides the throes of pleasure. "You've got really good morning sex perception."

"Morning sex perception?" Derek snorts, rubbing his knee in faster circles over Stiles' jean-clad cock.

"Y-Yeah, morning s-sex per-perception, y'know?" Stiles breathes. The hot, unyielding pressure in his stomach burns fiercely, hips starting to lose their rhythm, simply just rutting frenziedly. Call that being a teenager. "D-Derek, _oh_," he whines.

"You're going to come," Derek whispers evidently, and Stiles barely has the voice to whimper "_ah_, _ahhh_ coming" before his whole body snaps tight like a rubber band, toes curling, panting and mewling his release.

* * *

"So, hey, I got a question?" Stiles murmurs. He's sprawled out on the bed, limbs limp and sated, Derek resting quietly beside him after having one of the most brain-exploding blow jobs he's ever experienced (Derek's words, _honest_).

"What is it?" Derek asks, twisting his head to the side to eye Stiles with amused curiosity. "Is it about me and my morning sex perception?" He arches an eyebrow, smirking.

Stiles gawks, eyes narrowing. "No, no it is not," he says pointedly, jabbing his finger at Derek's nose. "It's actually an important, legitimate question that I honestly need to know the answer to."

"Okay." Derek rubs his nose, wrinkles it while pouting. "What is it?"

"When I was a wolf, uh, for the first time? Y'know, when you were holding me? Yeah, well, you were… cold. Like your arms were, I don't know, _icy _on my ski—fur and, just… It wasn't pleasant. Felt like I was trapped in between two twin glaciers in the middle of winter."

Derek stares at him blankly, the question of_ What the hell are you talking about? _written all over his face.

Stiles sighs, closing his eyes.

"Don't look at me like I'm crazy. I know it _sounds _absolutely stupid but, yeah, it's a thing I experienced. Not long ago, actually. And I'd _really _appreciate it if you could help get me to actually believe that everything I'm saying, I'm _saying_. 'Cause this could be a _dream _for all I know. I mean, you're _back_ after how long? Three _months_, or was it longer? Ugh, I don't even _know_, just… just you're _back _and you're the same as how you left, same expect for the grouchy interior—wait, no, it's still there, just mellowed down a bit like wherever you left us for gave you some kind of epiphany and you're a _balanced _guy… werewolf, yeah, balanced werewolf."

Derek rolls his eyes, opens his mouth, about to speak, but Stiles starts rambling on again before he can say anything.

"And then… then there's the problem with me. I'm a wolf. A werewolf. Quileute? _Whatever_. Anyway, I'm a being of the _supernatural_ and I can turn into a freakin' _wolf_. A big, furry dog that's as big as a _horse_, even. This—this is just _insane_. I'm not sure this is real. I—I could be asleep. Dreaming." Stiles shakes his head dazedly. "Yep, that's it. I'm totally dreaming this. Wake up Stiles, you're dreaming. You're not a lupine creature of the night, you're a completely normal, human guy that goes to Beacon Hills High and used to have a crush on Lydia Martin. Derek's not here with you, he's probably with Cora in New York building a new life for himself and scaring people in the big city. He didn't kiss you, didn't give you one of the best orgasms in your life last night. He didn't bite you, and you're not _his_ even though you really want to be. This isn't _real!_ It's not real! WAKE UP!"

Derek grabs Stiles' arm, grips it tight, and digs his nails into the skin of the boy's forearm. "Stiles, this is not a dream. This _is _real. Snap out of it, c'mon!"

Stiles' eyes flicker open, pupils wide when he sees Derek's unimpressed face glaring at him. "Oh," he breathes. "Ah, yeah. Definitely real then," he chuckles, reaching his hand out and patting Derek's cheek. "Only real Derek would scowl at me like that after a bout of my horrible rambling. No dream. This is happening."

Derek groans in anguish, turning his head away. "That's it. Only you can make me regret coming back. Only you," he mutters.

Stiles scoffs. "You _so _wanted to come back. You love me."

"I do," Derek replies softly, smiling despite the annoyance.

Stiles grins, snuggling into Derek's body and pressing his nose into the stretch of skin behind Derek's ear. "I love you too. Y'know, have for a while. Since we met, actually. I felt a connection, like I _knew _you before I even got to know you. Crazy, huh? I saw you in the woods that day and just… you were it. Lydia Martin wasn't the _one _anymore. You were."

Derek freezes.

Stiles freezes at the exact same moment, moving back to look in Derek's wide, shocked eyes.

"W-What?" he blurts.

Derek shakes his head, draws a short, quiet breath of air through his nose. "It's… When we first saw each other? _Then?_"

Stiles nods slowly. "Yeah, I mean, it was _weird_." He snorts, bites his lip to stifle a laugh. "I'd loved Lydia Martin since the third grade, like completely and utterly stunned by her smartness and her beauty and her _everything_. And then next thing I know, _you _pop up and I'm like, all over the idea of writing sonnets about the way you strut about in your tight ass jeans and snug leather jacket that hugs your shoulders like a—" He stops, trips over his words, blushing. "Yeah, _aherm_… sonnets."

Derek doesn't laugh at his fluster. In fact, the werewolf's eyes are wide in disbelief, body tense, rigid beside him. "You," he says, voice soft and choked. "You _imprinted_ on me?"

Stiles frowns, eyebrows pulling down in confusion. "What? _Imprint?_ Uh, no, I don't think I know what… that means?" he utters weakly. Derek's shock is kinda increasing, the high arch of his eyebrow and parted lips scaring the ever-loving shit out of Stiles right now.

Derek shakes his head, the noise leaving his throat small and shaky.

And then his eyes are flashing blue and he's pulling Stiles down, crashing their lips together hard enough the resounding_ clack_ of their teeth echoes in Stiles' skull.

Stiles gasps wetly against the werewolf's mouth, holding onto the man's broad shoulders and grasping tightly. Derek's hands stroke along his back, down his spine and back up again as he keeps kissing him in sharp, rough bites of his mouth, and it's driving Stiles crazy.

Or maybe, it's the stinging sweet odour that's burning his nostrils.

"D—Derek, s-s-stop," he whines against the other's mouth. Derek instantly pulls back at his displeasure, confused eyes searching for the reason why.

"What's the matter?" he asks softly, and Stiles smells the worry rolling off him in waves of discontentment, a vinegary off-putting scent.

"No—Nothing," he manages, breathing heavily. The scent is too sweet and it's infiltrating his senses, vicious in its onslaught on his nostrils. He can barely breathe, the thick aroma inhaled very time he tries to suck in air.

Derek's head snaps up then, growl rumbling in his chest. "Someone's here."

"You—" Stiles coughs. "You can smell it t-too?"

Derek's nostrils flare, eyes flashing. "Yeah, it's—_fuck_, it's sweet," he chokes, pinching his nose.

"Does it—it sting?" Stiles asks, squeezing his fingers over his nose as well—not that it helps.

"No, but it's strong," Derek says, coughing a little. "What, does it—does it sting for you?" His eyes widen slightly in concern.

Stiles nods, wincing. "Yep, like someone's taken a lighter to my nostrils." He curses when he speaks, breathing in the syrupy stench.

Derek makes a move to get out of bed, but Stiles grabs his arm. "Stiles, let me go see what it is," he growls.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "No way. Vampire, Derek. I wouldn't—"

"That's what they smell like?"

"Yep. What, you didn't smell it before when I wolfed out yesterday?"

Derek frowns. "I—"

Stiles jumps, startled of fright, when the window bursts open, shards of glass flying everywhere. Derek immediately pins him down and covers his body with his own, and Stiles watches, eyes wide, as a splinter of it slices his shoulder, cutting through bone and muscle.

"_Shit_, oh—oh my God," he says, voice strangled when Derek squeezes his eyes shut, face screwing up in pain.

"It's okay. I-I'm fine," Derek gasps, opens his eyes—they're hazel again, tears glimmering in them.

"No, no you're not, Derek," Stiles says, fingers grazing the splinter of glass, hand trembling as he rears back when Derek sobs out a soft cry. "You—we gotta get it out. It—it can't _stay _in there, Derek. Your skin will heal around it."

"I _know_," Derek grits out, breathing heavily. There's a gleam of sweat perspiring on his forehead. "Can't. Not—not until I know you're—safe."

Stiles has the urge to hit Derek. The guy is basically _bleeding to death _with a huge shard of glass pierced straight through his shoulder, yet he still wants to make sure _he's _safe?

"No, fuck that," he growls. "I-I'm not—I'm not letting you _die _protecting me. You're _hurt_, and I can look after myself now. Okay?"

Derek's jaw clenches in pain and discomfort as he tries to manoeuvre his body to rest his back against the pillows. "Fine. What's your big plan then, huh?"

"Wow, uh, Derek, look who's bleeding to death here. Do you see him? Oh yeah, no, you don't. Because it's _you_," Stiles snaps. Derek huffs, hissing softly, and Stiles sighs. "I don't know, the plan? Well, I was actually going to go get a wet towel and bandages so I can remove that shard of glass from your shoulder, big guy. What did you _think _the plan was?"

"And you're going to do _all that _when there's still a _vampire _outside your window."

"Great," Stiles mutters. He turns his head and yeah, the vampire's perched on the sill, grinning widely. "You know, right now isn't the best time for you to be giving me sass. I have a mouth full of huge fangs now, and oh did I mention I can turn into the size of your worst nightmare?"

Derek snorts lightly and Stiles bites his lips in order not to smirk and say something more chipper. _Be serious, Stilinski. Vampire in attacking distance. Threat needs to be nullified before any sarcasm._

"All right, I'm only going to say this once," he demands slowly, carefully rising off of the bed. "Get. Out. Of. My. Town."

"_Your _town?" the vampire scoffs, chuckling. "Wow, I'm sorry, but who do you think I am?"

Stiles grits his teeth, nerves jumping underneath his skin, senses alight with the sweet-as-nectar pungency that the vampire is giving off. "Look, I'm not going to repeat myself, man. I want you out. _Now_."

"No can do, kid."

"Get the fuck out right fucking _now!_"

The vampire's smirk drops, blue eyes changing like the dark grey sky of a storm. "You swear at me?" it says lowly, lips pulling back to reveal sharp, pointed fangs that glisten in the sunlight.

Stiles isn't fazed. "Yeah, buddy, I do," he snipes, standing dead still, eyes hard and impassive. "And I'll do it again. Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My. Town."

Derek inhales sharply, and Stiles can feel the shift in the air just as well. The vampire is readying to pounce, knees bent and shoulders hunched.

"Stiles," Derek warns, voice hoarse.

"I know," he replies calmly. "Derek, I know."

The vampire, clearly angered that his victim is not shaking in fear like it should be, leaps off of the sill, landing on the floor of the bedroom, knelt to the ground with a snarl, fangs bared.

"Surrender now, _wolf_, and I'll let your puppy friend go without any harm," it threatens.

"He already _is _harmed, you asshole," Stiles growls, nostrils burning with how close the vampire is, muscles tensing under his skin.

"Well, less harmed than he already is." The smirk on the vampire's face is deadly, a cruel curve of fangs and lips.

Stiles snaps.

The shift this time is quicker, the wolf bursting forth out of his body, clothes ripping and tearing. The vampire's eyes widen slightly and Stiles can smell, amongst the honey-suckle sweetness, a strong lemony tang of fear. But as soon as the scent hits the air, it wafts away just as sudden.

"Oh, well would you look at that. Bravo." The vampire stands, clapping its hands in a soft mockery of an applause. Stiles can smell sheer amusement coming off of it now. The peppery scent of it repulses him.

**_Stiles… Be careful._**

Stiles' fur bristles at the voice.

It's Derek.

**_I will_**, he sends back, not sure if Derek will hear it. He turns to see Derek grimace in pain, but nod. Huh. Okay, weird. Telepathy. Before it hadn't worked but now…

"I see we've gotten off track," the vampire says, voice annoyed. Stiles instantly whips his head around in the vampire's direction, baring his own razor sharp teeth. "Now, that's better." It smirks.

Stiles only has the time to leap backwards on his two hind legs as the vampire surges forward, hands clawing at the space where he'd just been. The vampire hisses, blue eyes almost luminous when they're up close.

"Nice avoidance technique," it chuckles, swiping a hand out again. Stiles dodges that one as well, ducking down and growling low in his throat. "Speedy. I like that," it jeers.

Stiles growls more fiercely, spittle flying from the intensity. He pounces on the vampire while it's too busty gloating, knocking it to the ground, raking his claws down its chest, digging them in. The vampire cries out, the scent of pain rolling off of it, salty and stale.

"Y-You _mutt_," it bites out, stifling a whimper when Stiles digs his claws in harder.

Stiles doesn't know why, but at that moment he shifts again. He's holding down the vampire with his hands now, bare skin in ripe attacking distance. _Fuck_.

"Stiles! What are you _doing?_ Shift back!" Derek yells, alarmed.

"I_ can't_," Stiles grits out, teeth clenched. The vampire grins from where it's pinned underneath him and oh no, that's not a good sign.

"Can't shift back, eh?" it says in innocent curiosity. Stiles growls, the sound human-like and very, _very _un-threatening.

The vampire isn't fazed, of course, and before Stiles knows it the situation is turned and he's being flipped over onto his back, the vampire the one pinning _him _down.

"Well, well, well," it sing-songs, dancing its fingers down his chest. Stiles bucks up, trying to get it off of him, but he's naked and that movement just—_fuck_. "Oh ho," the vampire chuckles, pressing its hips down until Stiles gasps, biting his lip on a moan. "This is nice. A defenceless little wolf under my control."

"Get away from him!" Stiles hears Derek snarl, followed by a small whimper. He winces, knowing Derek just tried to get up and help him but couldn't.

"Why are you here?" he breathes, eyes thinning to slits as the vampire's bony hips press down again, grinding, friction he doesn't want nearly making his eyelids flutter.

The vampire doesn't answer straight away, fingers rubbing lightly over one of his nipples. Stiles flinches, hisses at the cold of the vampire's skin. It's like chilled ice.

"Why am I here?" it repeats in a mockery of his own question. "Well, let's say I want some… _fun_," it chuckles, pinching the nipple under his fingers. Stiles groans softly, hips rising and lifting the vampire half off of him.

"Why?" Stiles grits, voice shallow. His cock is hard, leaking, and this is not something he wants. He wants… he wants—

"You want to come," the vampire drawls and _what_ _the_ _fuck_.

"W-W-What?" He manages to speak, but it's choked and breathy. The vampire's grinning, lips twitching.

"You want to come, so I'm going to make you come," the vampire says lowly, starting to rock its hips, pinching and twisting his nipples, hard enough it stings and shoots pain throughout his chest.

"S-St—op," he gasps, moaning. It—_fuck_—hurts, yet feels so good at the same time.

"You want me to stop? But you're so close. Why, and you're liking it. Don't lie," the vampire chides, rolling its hips faster.

No no no no, no more. Anymore and he's—he's…

Stiles hiccups around a hitched cry, slamming his eyes shut so he doesn't see the manic grin on the vampire's face or the dark laughter and amusement in its eyes when he comes, shaking apart and panting.

"That's it,_ lovely_, so pretty when you come, wolf," the vampire croons, stroking fingers over his nipples softly, and Stiles sobs at how sensitive they are.

Stiles can only lay there, chest heaving, as the vampire stands up and glances behind its shoulder. "Seems like your puppy isn't that happy I gave you release," it taunts.

"No shit," Stiles husks, voice wrecked just like everything inside of him right now. Orgasms from a person you don't like are _not _supposed to take that much out of you.

"Why, maybe if I give him the same treatment he'll not feel so jealous?"

Stiles, immediately, gets all of his energy back at that statement. The wolf in him surges forward, not breaking free but giving him enough power to leap off the ground and onto his own two feet.

"You're not going to touch him," he warns, voice coming back slowly, not scratchy anymore but strong and threatening. Well, threatening enough as he can be whilst naked.

"Oh, really?" the vampire mocks, and its fangs glint in the sunlight again as it bares them. "And what are you doing to do? Stop me?"

Stiles doesn't even provide that question with an answer.

He just shifts and pounces.

* * *

**_So yeah, cliffhangers are kinda my thing.*Sigh*. Sorry. One day I will stop... One day. As for the chapter, what do you think? Thoughts? I'd love to know!_**

**_Not sure when next chapter will be up. I went through my Word doc today and noticed that I had (omg, how could I mislead myself?), only completed 3 chapters instead of 4. So yeah, I'm actually still working on chapter 4... Sorry guys. I'll try and get that done asap, but I can't make any promises because the school term is coming to a close and I got assignments to finish and blah blah blah. Do not give up hope, though! I will fight my way through the assignments and try my very best to get the next chapter up soon (hopefully at least in the next 3-4 weeks)._**

**_(Also P.S: Is it just me or has anyone else noticed how many clothes I've had Stiles destroy during the shift in this story?)_**


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles doesn't remember how it happens. The beginning of the fight starts with him lunging at the vampire with his mouth wide open, ready to latch his fangs into the creature's throat. He succeeds, but he also thinks the vampire manages to gets its arms around him. He's not sure. All he knows is that the vampire is out the window yet again like the fleeing bastard it is, and his ribs really hurt, pain splintering through them like they're cracked, or even worse, _broken_.

**_Stiles! Stiles! Are you okay!? Answer me! STILES!_**

That's Derek's voice, Stiles knows. He's being talked to telepathically. He hasn't got the strength to reply though, only manages to whine pathetically and slump to the ground, shifting back to human, curling up in a ball with his eyes shut tight.

There's a lot of noise suddenly—a door banging open, feet thumping, voices shouting. That's all he hears before he slips into un-consciousness.

* * *

Stiles wakes up groggy, like he's been dosed with a whole assortment of high pain medication. His head feels light, his mouth dry, and there's a dull ache settling against his chest. He realizes he's laying on his side, head resting against a pillow, on the table in Deaton's veterinarian surgery.

"Crap," he croaks, trying to move. It jars something sharply inside of him and he cries out, stifling a bout of whimpers.

"Stiles," a voice breathes from beside him, then there's hand on his shoulder. "Don't move. You can't move, buddy, all right? Not yet."

It's Scott. Scott, whose voice is strained and slightly hoarse, like he's been crying. Scott, who when Stiles looks up, has red-rimmed eyes and tear dampened cheeks.

"S-Scott? W-What—'appened?" he whispers.

Scott swallows and opens his mouth, about to answer, but then the door to the back room is slamming open, Deaton and a fully healed Derek rushing in, Derek's eyes wild in—fright?

"Stiles," he chokes out, and Stiles realizes that his eyes are brimming with tears.

"H-H—Hey, big guy," he murmurs, eyes slipping shut. He feels Scott's hand on his shoulder remove itself before another one's there, firmer. He flutters his eyelids open weakly to see Deaton sitting down in a chair next to him, Derek and Scott standing beside the veterinarian, both with worried (Scott) and terrified (Derek) expressions.

"Stiles, do you know why you're here?" Deaton asks calmly.

Stiles just breathes for a few seconds, trying to gain enough energy to speak, before opening his eyes and replying weakly, "'m dying?"

A strangled half laugh/half sob breaks out. Stiles winces when he recognizes it as Derek's.

"No, you're indeed not dying, Stiles," Deaton replies, slight amusement in his tone, right before it drops and "grave Deaton mode" activates. "But, I am sorry to say that you have suffered some quite serious rib damage."

Stiles gulps, coughs and hisses when it rattles the broken bones in his chest. "What—what you 'onna do, doc?" he asks, eyelids drooping. He's already tired again. Whatever Deaton's given him is some pretty strong stuff.

Deaton sighs, looking hesitant. "Because of your broken bones, your body isn't healing like it should be. I'm afraid I am going to have to shatter them so they can reform correctly."

There's growl, low and rough.

"You're going to have to shatter _what?_" Derek snarls.

"I am going to need to shatter his rib bones, otherwise they will not heal properly and could cause further damage," Deaton replies coolly, un-fazed by Derek's outburst.

"Further _damage? _You're about to _shatter his bones!_"

"Derek, calm down." Scott puts a hand on Derek's arm, trying to settle the werewolf's nerves. It doesn't look like it's working.

"Calm _down?_ How can you be _calm _right now? Scott, your best friend is about get his rib bones completely fucking _shattered!" _Derek roars, eyes flashing.

"Scott, I think it would be wise to escort Mr. Hale out of the room for this procedure. I can't have him here when he cannot remain composed, for the sake of Stiles' safety," Deaton warns.

Scott nods. "C'mon, Derek," he says, tugging at the werewolf's sleeve. Derek doesn't budge, just swallows and closes his eyes. When they open again they're hazel, no longer an icy blue.

"No." Derek draws a breath in shakily, whole body tensing. "I'm not—I _can't_," he whines. "I can't let him go through this on his own. Please. Let me stay," he pleads, tears shining in his eyes.

Deaton reallocates his body a little in his seat, hunching over slightly, obviously weighing his options. After a few seconds, he hums. "Fair enough. You can stay. Derek, but I need you to remain calm. I cannot have you shifting in here while I am working on Stiles. It could jeopardize his health." Deaton tilts his head, a knowing twitch to his lips. "And I am sure that is something both of us do not want."

Derek's eyes widen. "No. Not at all," he says softly, bowing his head and releasing a shaky breath.

"Scott, I would like to ask you to please leave the room and wait outside. I am sorry, but I cannot permit more than two people in here at a time while I am performing a procedure such as this one," Deaton directs at Scott.

Scott shifts from one foot to the other nervously, unsure, but with Deaton's nod he leaves, looking back one more time to catch eyes with Derek before exiting the room.

"Derek, you may take a seat," Deaton says, standing up from his chair and letting Derek take his place. "Now, I need to go and get a few things. I'll be back in a moment."

Derek nods, watching as Deaton walks over to a set of cupboards at the far back of the room, taking off a jar of liquid and a needle, before walking back.

"All right, Derek, I need Stiles awake for this. So, if you wouldn't mind." Deaton waves a hand at Stiles who is asleep, smiling kindly.

Derek swallows and, gently, he brushes a thumb over Stiles' cheekbone. "Stiles, hey," he whispers. Stiles' eyelids flutter, nose twitching, but he doesn't wake. "Stiles, I need you to wake up for me, okay. Deaton's here to help you."

Stiles' eyes drift open and he blinks once, twice, before glancing over to Deaton who is holding a needle. Derek hears the moment his heart rate spikes.

"Hey, no, it's okay," he soothes. "It's for the pain. Right, Deaton?"

Deaton nods. "This will just relieve you of some of the pain while I proceed to…" He pauses, somewhat un-sure to continue, twisting the jar that holds the clear liquid open, dipping the point of the needle in and extracting some into the tube. "Derek, hold his arm out for me please."

Stiles eyes widen as Derek carefully takes grip of his arm. "D-Derek," he whispers. "What's going on?"

Derek swallows. Stiles must have been so out of it he hadn't heard what they'd need to do for him to heal properly. "I—"

"_Derek_," Deaton says, tone sharp. "If you want me to help Stiles, I'm going to need your full co-coperation."

Derek nods briskly, throat dry. "I—I understand. Just let me—"

The look Deaton gives him is both cautious and angry. Derek snaps his mouth shut, guiding Stiles' arm out gently, and when Stiles flails, eyes panicked, soothingly whispers, "You're okay, it's okay, Deaton's going to take good care of you."

* * *

The process was tormenting, to say the least.

After Deaton gave Stiles the anaesthetic he was out of it for a bit, but when it came down to the actual _bone shattering?_

Derek shivers, pulling at the blankets covering his and Stiles' bodies, trying to expel the choked sobs and cries of agony that he'd had to listen to while Deaton shattered his mate's ribs.

They're lying in bed in the loft, Deaton having let Stiles leave with the order to rest and recover. Stiles hadn't been too keen going back home so Derek offered him a place to stay for the night.

"Der? You still awake?"

Derek turns his head, meeting the sleepy amber eyes staring at him in the dark of the room. They'd been glazed over partly during the bone breaking process, pain showing too clearly in them, and now Derek is just glad they're free of all that torment.

"Yeah," he murmurs, drawing Stiles in closer, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his nose into the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent that resides there.

"Well go to sleep," Stiles chuckles. "We gotta get up early tomorrow. Plan to kill this freakin' vamp for good."

Derek freezes, trying to ignore the ice he feels run through his veins. The vampire had done this to Stiles. Broke his ribs to a point that shattering them had been necessary for them to heal and reform properly.

"No," he whispers sharply, biting the words out. "You're not getting anywhere near that thing. Not if I can help it."

Stiles snorts. "Oh now, c'mon, Derek."

"_No_," Derek growls. "Stiles, what it _did _to you today?" His arms unconsciously curl tighter around his mate's body. "I don't want you getting hurt again. I _won't _let you."

Stiles sighs, body sagging against Derek. "Derek," he says calmly. "I'll be all right. It just… It got me when I wasn't looking, okay? I could have taken it, but I was more worried about you, and didn't exactly have my head in the game, so to speak."

Derek tenses. "So it's… it's my fault?" he chokes weakly.

"_No!_" Stiles' eyes widen in shock and anger. He threads his fingers through Derek's, squeezing firmly. "No Derek. This wasn't _any _of your fault, okay? And I don't want you blaming yourself over it." His voice hardens. "Promise me you won't?"

Derek breathes quietly, not answering, the silence around them almost stifling. "I promise," Derek finally murmurs softly, closing his eyes and exhaling. "I promise."

Stiles settles back easily under the warm covers, folding his body up closer to Derek and kissing his mate gently on the lips, thumb tracing the curves of his palm. "Thank you."

* * *

The next morning sees Stiles lounging in bed, with no other choice in the matter because Derek had insisted he not get up unless it was absolutely necessary. (_"Derek, I need to **pee**, and I am not going to do it here. In fact, **you **probably don't want me to pee here. This is your bed. So, up. Let me up. Now. **Now**. My bladder—oh shit—is not to be trusted, **ever**." _"_Okay, okay. Just—bathroom! **Go**._)

Breakfast in bed was a delicacy, let Stiles say that. Fuck, Derek could _cook_. Bacon and egg had never tasted so good before today. (_"Oh my **God**, where have you been hiding, Culinary Genius Derek Hale?" _"_Shut up, Stiles."_)

But now, at nearly 3:00pm, it's become more than annoying. He doesn't want to stay in bed. He wants to _do stuff_.

"Derek," he whines, kicking at the blankets that are pooled around his feet. "I want to do something. Let me up. Please."

"No."

"_Please_."

"_No_. Stiles."

Stiles huffs, crossing his arms and pouting. "I don't like you no more. You're mean."

Derek barks out a laugh. "Is _this_ where you act like a child?"

Stiles' pout twists into a scowl and he rolls over, facing away from Derek. "No… shut up, sourwolf."

Derek just continues laughing. Stiles can hear it even when Derek's left the room. When he hears Derek come back he's not laughing, and Stiles rolls back over to see the werewolf holding a… pack of colouring pencils and paper.

"What is that?" he asks petulantly, knowing where this is going and not at all happy.

Derek grins. "Something to keep you occupied." He places the paper and pencils on the bed near Stiles, patting the boy's head, quickly removing it when Stiles whips his head around, teeth bared. "Now, now no biting. Colour in your pictures and be a good boy," he teases.

"I _really _don't like you," Stiles remarks, but there's a smile twitching on his lips.

Derek smirks, leaning down to capture Stiles' mouth in a kiss, before trailing his lips up the boy's jaw, to his earlobe, nosing the shell delicately before whispering cheekily, "No. You love me."

And Stiles?

He can't agree more.

* * *

**_I know, it took me ages to get this out. I'm sorry! A family member has become seriously ill and it's a hard time for all of us right now, so I had to put off writing for a while. I also apologize for the short chapter, but I hope you all still like this. I can't make any promises when the next chapter will be up, so we'll have to play it ear by ear. Thank you for everyone's understanding :)_**


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